Harriet Beamer Takes the Bus (13 page)

H
ENRY AND
H
UMPHREY WERE SITTING ON THE BACK PORCH
early that morning. It had started to rain, and Henry was not in the mood to walk Humphrey between the drops. And he liked the screened-in porch in the springtime. A chance to watch the grass grow and the flowers bloom. Humphrey liked it too. Except Humphrey still had a kind of sad look about him — if it was possible for him to look any sadder.

“Cheer up, old man, let’s give Harriet a call.”

Humphrey, who had been lying like a fat, brown wrinkled puddle of a dog, perked up. At least Henry thought he had perked.

Henry tapped his mother’s picture and waited. “Let’s put her on speaker.”

Humphrey pried himself from the porch floor and ambled close to Henry. He sat and rested his chin on Henry’s knee, looking up at him over his wiry eyebrows. Henry patted his head. “I know you miss her.”

“Hello, Henry?” It was Harriet.

“Yes, Mother, of course it’s Henry.”

“Well, I’m sorry, it’s a little loud in this police car.”

“Police car?”

Humphrey whined.

“Why are you in a police car? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. On my way to the helicopter.”

“Helicopter? I don’t understand. What happened to buses?”

“Can’t always —”

The connection was dropped.

“Did you hear that, Humphrey? Mom is on her way to a helicopter in a police car. Oh, this is getting out of hand.” He dropped the phone into his shirt pocket. “I hope everything is all right.”

Humphrey danced and trotted to the screen door.

“Okay, but please just pee. I don’t feel like picking up poop right now. I have to figure out where my mother is and why she’s in a police car heading for a helicopter.”

Humphrey yowled and dashed into the yard. He sniffed near the lilac.

Harriet closed her phone just as Milford hit a bump in the road. She bounced.

“Reception isn’t too good out here,” Ford said.

“Oh, it’s not the reception. I just didn’t want to talk to Henry about the helicopter. I think I might have told him too much already.”

“Will he worry?”

“Oh, dear me, he will worry about this like a wart on a sore butt — sorry.”

Ford laughed. “No problem. We should be out to the airport in about nine minutes.”

“Are you sure you can drive a helicopter?”

“Flew ‘em in Viet Nam. ‘Course those hellies were a might bigger than Crazy Jane.”

“Crazy Jane?”

“That’s what I named my copter. Practically built her myself from spare parts.”

Harriet smiled. Her stomach gurgled. She looked out the window
at the telephone poles passing up and down, up and down, and trees and houses whizzing by at near breakneck speed.

“Nothing like the open road,” Ford said. “They like to build airports where it ain’t too populated. Noise pollution and all.”

Harriet looked at her new friend. She had to consider him a friend. It made her feel better to consider him a long lost brother and not some psychotic fiend.

“That’s nice,” she said. “I suppose Crazy Jane is … seaworthy, or should I say, skyworthy?”

“That she is. Flies like the wind, smooth and comfy.”

Harriet peered out the window some more. She would have liked to keep staring at Ford — he was so … interesting, but she didn’t want to appear rude.

“So Sterling tells me you’re heading to Grass Valley, California — taking the long way.”

“That’s right.”

“I got to admire a woman like you. I don’t think Francine — that’s my wife of thirty-seven years — would have the nerve. She can barely take the bus to the shopping mall without getting lost.”

“Well, there is a knack to it. And I guess you need a certain amount of determination.” She adjusted her tote bag at her feet.

“I suppose you might be right. Francine seldom goes anywhere — ‘cept to play bridge with the girls and down to bingo on Thursday nights.”

Harriet looked out at the world whizzing by. “You know, Milford, you really need to encourage her to do more. Get out. See the world. Have a dream. Accomplish something.”

Ford looked over at her. “But how?”

“Ask. Ask her what she wants to do.”

“She does have a birthday comin’ up.”

“You should take her someplace nice, maybe in your helicopter. And ask her then; encourage her to reach for the stars.”

“Won’t go up in it. She doesn’t trust ol’ Milford.”

Harriet swallowed. “Does she have a reason not to trust you?”

“Nah. My goodness, cheese and crackers, Harriet, but that woman is afraid of her own shadow. She’s just as happy staying home. Leastways I think so.”

“I still think you should take her out this year. Someplace real special. Maybe spend the night at Chaz’s inn. And trust me, she’ll be glad you asked her about her dreams.”

“Now that sounds like a right fine idea.”

“And you better help her. Hold her hand through whatever she says because I’ll come back here and thump your gums if you don’t.”

Ford laughed. “Yes, ma’am.” He blew air out his nose and said, “Well, here we are. The airport. My whirlybird is parked out yonder.”

Milford pulled off the asphalt road and drove over bare, flat ground, over rocks and bumps, which made Harriet feel a little queasy.

“How … far to your whirlybird?”

“There she is.” Milford screeched to a stop, dirt kicking up around the car. “Ain’t she a sight for sore eyes?”

Harriet looked through the windshield at what she figured must be a helicopter. It looked more like a big blue and white shark. It had a wide propeller blade on top, which to Harriet seemed twenty feet long, and a small set of blades on the back.

“Crazy Jane, here we come.”

“Can I pay you?” Harriet asked. “We didn’t discuss that.”

“Hot diggity,” Milford said. “I’d be insulted if you tried to pay me. I’m just happy to be part of the adventure, Harriet. Part of the adventure.”

Harriet climbed out of the cop car.

“Come on. Don’t be afraid. She’s a good bird.”

“Okay.” Harriet sucked a deep breath but coughed it out when dust got stuck in her throat. “Here goes nothing.”

Ford helped Harriet climb into the front seat. He secured her suitcase into the back with a bungee cord attached to a thick metal
handle and then tucked her tote bag into a small space behind her seat. “Now buckle up.” He slammed the door shut with a clang. Harriet felt like she was in a tuna can from the sound it made. Her nerves were a touch rattled. “Courage, girl. You can do this.”

Then she watched him run around to the other side and climb in. After he buckled himself Harriet tapped his shoulder. “I’m not sure about this, Mil — I mean Ford.”

“Chicken? You getting chicken?” He fussed with some dials and pedals.

“Maybe. Maybe a little. I mean the bus is one thing, but being off the road, in the air, in a helicopter?”

“Speak now. I’ll take you back to the bus station, but the only way you’ll get to Asheville is on a charter bus or the Greyhound.”

Harriet sucked a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s go.”

“Good.” Ford placed a set of headphones on Harriet’s head.

“What? I don’t want to listen to music,” she said louder than normal.

Ford smiled. “No. It’s so we can talk.” He pointed to the microphone. “It gets loud up there.”

A dizzy spell caught Harriet off guard. But she tightened her knees and straightened her back. Determination. Then she said a quick prayer. “Dear Lord. Let this thing fly. Get us there in one piece. Amen.”

“Everybody prays,” Ford said. “It’s the darnedest thing. Guess it’s true what they say.”

“What’s that?”

“No atheists in a helicopter.”

Within minutes the whirlybird engine started up and Harriet could hear the rotation of the blades above her head. The craft rattled and rumbled, and then the next thing she knew they had lifted off the ground as slow and easy as spring pollen in a light wind burst.

Harriet opened her eyes. “This isn’t so bad.”

Ford laughed. Then he reached under his seat and pulled out a cigar.

“You aren’t going to light that, are you?” Harriet said, her brow arched.

Ford shook his head as he fidgeted with knobs and the joystick. “Nah. Just like to chew on ‘em.”

Harriet started to relax. The rumble and jostling of the helicopter settled down, and they were sailing smoothly through the air.

“The view is spectacular,” Harriet said. “I never knew the earth was so green and blue and orange.”

“Hot diggity,” Ford said. “There ain’t nothing like being five thousand feet in the air looking down on home. Gives you a whole new perspective. That road down there is State Route 70. We’ll pretty much follow her into Asheville.”

“It looks like a line drawn by a pencil,” Harriet said.

“We’re passing over Black Mountain. That over there is Lake Tomahawk. Not very big lake. But still, there she is.”

“Thank you,” Harriet said. “For taking me this way. I never would have believed in a million years I’d ride in a helicopter. Wait’ll Martha hears about this.”

“Martha?”

“My friend back in Philly. Right now I miss her more than anything and wish she was here in this contraption with me looking down on the world.”

“We’ll be coming up on the Blue Ridge Parkway soon. Now that’s a pretty drive. Right through mountains.”

“Which mountains?”

“Why, the Appalachian Mountains, of course. Runs for about 470 miles. Some of the most beautiful terrain you’ll ever set eyes on.”

“I’d like to see that.”

“Yeah, unfortunately I’m only cleared to take you into Asheville. Maybe some other time.”

Harriet looked out the window. “One day, maybe.”

“Okay now,” Ford said. “That over there is the airport. I’ll be bringing Crazy Jane in for a landing over there.”

“In that little driveway?”

“It’s not so little. Keep an eye out — it comes up pretty quick.”

Harriet sat back in the seat and adjusted her headset microphone. “That was a very fast ride.”

“Yep. Traveling is easy when you have the right equipment. I still don’t get why you’re doing this on public buses and what have you.”

“Like I tell everyone, I’m taking the scenic way to California. And this is about as scenic as it’s gotten.”

“Excuse me a sec,” Ford said. “I got to let them know we’re here.” Ford fiddled with knobs and then spoke into the radio. Then he turned back to Harriet. “That’s what Sterling told me. I’m very impressed, Harriet Beamer. Very impressed.” His cigar still teetered in the corner of his mouth.

Harriet nodded. “Thank you, Ford.”

“Well, you really are something else. A woman your age traversing the country the way you are — going up in an old helicopter with the likes of me — sheesh. Well, like my granddaughter says —” he raised a thumbs up —“you go, girl!”

“Uh-oh,” she said. “There’s a man with a flag.”

“Yep, he’ll guide Crazy Jane in, like fitting a shoe on a foot.”

Seconds later the helicopter was on the ground. The man with the flag rushed over with his head bent down. “Go on, now,” Ford said. “Herbie will help you out and get you to the terminal.”

“But I thought you were coming.”

“Nah, I got to get back to town. Things to do. But it was a pleasure, Harriet. A real honor to fly with you.” He saluted her.

Harriet saluted back. Herbie reached inside and unbuckled her belt and then lifted the phones off her head.

“Have a safe trip home, Ford,” Harriet said. “Thank you.”

Ford nodded. Harriet jumped out of the helicopter and held her head down against the wind created by the whirling blades.
She and Herbie, who carried her belongings like they were footballs or toddlers, ran back toward the building, where they stood and watched Milford take off.

“What a sweet man,” Harriet said.

“When he’s sober.”

Harriet swallowed. Her eyes grew wide as she looked at Herbie.

“Sterling told me to help you get wherever you needed to go,” Herbie said.

“Um.” Harriet adjusted her tote bag. “I guess if you could tell me where I could catch the bus into town that would be great.”

“Easy peasy. Just through those doors, and then wind your way around to the front of the terminal. I believe someone there will help you find the bus stop.”

“Thanks,” Harriet said. “And I suppose there’s a … restroom inside.”

“Sure thing. Just look for the signs.”

Once inside the building, which looked pretty much like every other terminal she’d visited, drab walls, scuffed floors, TV screens with information everywhere she looked, she wandered down the wide passage until she found the ladies room. And none too soon. Age had its weaknesses.

T
HE
A
SHEVILLE
R
EGIONAL
A
IRPORT WAS SMALL, OR AT
least that’s what Harriet thought, having not been in many airports. She walked around a little outside, trying to regain her land legs before making her way over to a skycap and inquiring about the local bus.

“Oh, yes, ma’am,” he said. “You just go back out these doors, turn to your right, and walk about a block, block and a half, and you’ll see the sign for Route 6. She’ll take you on into the city.”

“Thank you,” Harriet said. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a five-dollar bill. “Thanks again.”

The skycap smiled. “You have a good day now, y’hear?”

Harriet reset her wheels, pulled her tote over her shoulder, and set off back outside. She had no trouble finding the stop, and just a few minutes later the 1:55 to the Asheville Terminal Center pulled up. It was a long white bus, albeit a grimy, sooty bus with a wide red stripe that reached all the way around. Harriet and three other passengers climbed aboard after seventeen people climbed off.

Fortunately the bus was pretty much empty now except for an old woman in the back. Harriet chose a seat near the front. She sat down with a thud and finally allowed herself to feel relieved she was out of that helicopter.

“Now, I wonder if I should call Henry,” she said to the window.
But she thought better of it and decided to wait until later. She had thought she’d try to make it all the way to Maggie Valley, but given the time, Harriet decided to spend the night in Asheville.

“Excuse me,” she called to the driver, a young woman who looked friendly enough. “Can you tell me the name of a nice restaurant near the transit center?”

“Tupelo Honey Café on College Street; that’s what I like.” She never took her eyes off the road but continued talking. “Real nice place, good people, great food.”

“Does this bus go there?”

“Sorry. You need to get on the Route 15 to Patton, and then it’s an easy walk around the corner.”

“Thank you. The Route 15.”

The bus pulled into the transit center, a mostly nondescript building lacking any nuance or charm. The bus pulled alongside a portico with large green pillars supporting a roof. Folks were sitting on benches or leaning against the pillars waiting. Probably for the next bus.
The next bus.
Harriet thought that sounded almost like a philosophy for life. Sometimes she felt like she was always waiting for the next bus, and not only since she left Philadelphia but at other times. Waiting until the next bus came along to set her on a different route. Like when she got pregnant with Henry or adopted Humphrey or got married or buried Max. They were all buses taking her in a new direction.

Harriet de-bused. She liked that term. It made her feel like a professional. She went inside the smallish building and located the Route 15 schedule and map just inside the terminal building. Unfortunately, the next bus that would take her close to Patton Avenue wasn’t due until 4:00 and it was only a little past three.

So Harriet found an empty bench and sat. She grabbed her cell phone and remembered that she had turned it off before she got into Crazy Jane. “Oh dear, I bet Henry is frantic.”

She turned it on and sure enough, she had six new voicemails
waiting for her. “Oh dear, I hate getting messages. I know they’re all from Henry, so I’ll just call.”

She tapped his picture.

“Now, Henry, don’t be mad, but I had to turn the phone off while I was riding in the helicopter,” she said the instant he said hello.

“Mom,” Henry said. “Where are you now? Are you okay?”

“I’m still in North Carolina, dear. Decided to spend the night here.”

“Where in North Carolina?”

“Asheville. But, Henry, I would like to ask you a question. Do you think I’m … I’m still useful?”

“Useful?”

“Yes. Do I still matter, or have I used up all my purpose?”

There was a long pause and Harriet felt fidgety. “I’m sorry, Henry, I shouldn’t have asked that.”

“Mom, I —”

“Sorry, Henry there’s my next bus.” She closed her phone. Of course she still had a few minutes to wait, but it felt uncomfortable to talk about personal things with Henry — even long distance. The air was cool for a late spring afternoon, and Harriet enjoyed it. She would much rather be cool than too hot. She observed the people around her and marveled that most of them were young and hip looking. She liked that. Hip kids made her smile and remember her own youth.

Next Harriet got out her journal and pen. She crossed her legs and admired her bright red sneakers again. She never, ever thought she could love a pair of shoes as much as she loved her Converse. Change was good.

She leaned her head back against the brick wall and remembered the night Henry came into the world. They saw a shooting star on the way to the hospital.

Harriet swiped at the tear that fell onto her page. “I miss you, Max.”

She closed her book and set it in its pouch in her tote bag. Harriet sat and listened to the sounds around her, snippets of conversation, birds singing. There were nests in the portico roof. Sparrows, Harriet thought.

But then, just as she started to feel relaxed, she heard a scuffle and a scream behind her. She turned and saw a young man yank the handbag away from an older woman, older than she. The woman screamed as the hoodlum in dark jeans and white T-shirt hurdled one of the benches and came running with the handbag toward her.

Thinking fast, Harriet rolled her suitcase just in time to trip the thief. He crashed to the ground with a thud and a cry. Harriet raised her tote bag and sent it crashing down onto the boy. He hollered and cursed as Harriet continued to assail him with her tote.

“What. Is. Wrong. With. You?”
she said with each glancing blow. Her bottle of blood-pressure medicine skittered out of the bag along with two gel pens and a canister of deodorant.

“Stop it, Lady,” the kid hollered. “Stop hitting me.”

Harriet looked at the boy. She noticed his bright blue eyes. “Ah, you’re not a criminal. You’re just a baby.”

The old woman, along with several other passersby gathered around. One of the group held a camera.

The young lady with the camera — actually a cell phone — moved closer to Harriet. “This is going on my YouTube channel,” she said. “I got the whole thing — from the first whack with that big purse.”

A middle-aged man joined the scene and knelt with his knee in the boy’s back. “You’re a real hero, lady. That was incredible.”

It took a moment before Harriet realized she was smiling into the girl’s camera.

“Thank you. Thank you so much,” said the crime victim. She leaned down and reclaimed her purse. “My … my life’s savings are in here.”

Harriet smiled at her. “I’m glad I was here at the right time.”

That was when two police officers approached and started asking questions. One of the officers helped the perpetrator up and handcuffed him. And what happened after that happened so quickly Harriet hardly had time to think. There were so many questions. A backup patrol car arrived on the scene and out jumped two more officers. They took Harriet’s vital statistics — her name, address, cell phone number, and such, while the original cops tended to the victim.

“You’re a true hero,” Officer Trotter said.

Harriet felt her face warm. “I just did what anyone would do.” Then she glared at the young man. “And you! You should be ashamed. What would your mother think of you stealing purses from women?”

The boy, who couldn’t have been much older than sixteen, didn’t say a word.

That was when the small crowd applauded.

“Oh my goodness,” Harriet said. “But I don’t deserve this. I was just on my way to California minding my own beeswax when
I saw him. I think I acted on instinct. I’m just thankful he wasn’t any bigger. He’s just a kid.”

The woman videoing the whole thing stopped for a moment and said, “I’ll get this uploaded right away. It’s gonna be all over the place. Eighty-year-old woman nabs purse snatcher on her way to California.”

“Seventy-two, dear,” Harriet said.

“What?”

“I’m only seventy-two.”

The police officers led the perpetrator away. The crowd thinned, and Harriet sat with a thud onto the bench. Her heart pounded like a drum in the hands of a two-year-old. She needed to catch her breath. “Glory be. Thank you, Lord, for getting me through that one and for letting me nab that hoodlum.”

The victim approached Harriet. She opened her purse and removed a thin bank envelope. “I want to reward you,” she said as she offered Harriet a twenty-dollar bill. “It’s not much but —”

Harriet waved the money away. “Oh, gracious no. I refuse to accept any reward. You hang on to your money.”

The woman smiled so wide her upper plate dropped. She quickly corrected the situation. “Thank you. I’m on my way to live with my son. He’s meeting me at the station.”

“Oh, that’s a good thing.” Harriet patted the woman’s hand. “I am too. Going to live with my son, only I’m taking the long way.”

In all the commotion Harriet missed the first bus and had to wait for the next. But that was fine with her — gave her a chance to settle down after the ordeal. The next bus pulled up soon enough and Harriet once again lugged her suitcase up the steps with a bump, bump, bump that seemed to annoy the driver.

“Come on, Lady, I don’t got all day.”

“I’m quite sorry, young man,” Harriet said as she paid her fare. “But it’s getting heavier and heavier.” She took the first seat she saw and barely had room for her suitcase. It must have been a older bus, she decided, not as much leg room as the new ones.

Fifteen minutes later her stop came up on Patton Avenue. She moved to the front. “Can you direct me to the Tupelo Honey Café?” she asked the driver. “If it’s not too much of a bother.”

“Just over on College Street,” he said without even glancing in her direction. “Next street over, sort of, you’ll find it.”

“Thank you.”

Harriet stood a moment. It seemed a nice part of town, artsy and earthy like she’d expect to see flower children and hippies strolling about. But mostly she saw young folk, many on cell phones, others carrying cups of coffee and yakking up a storm with friends. All on their way to someplace.

She spotted a small boutique called Aunt Clementine and went inside. It was old with creaky floors. She saw all kinds of jewelry, large brooches and earrings with bright stones in them, and specialty clothing, like a pair of vintage stone martens still with their tails and eyes. She touched the soft fur. Why would anyone want to wear dead weasels around their shoulders? But Harriet did not see a single salt and pepper shaker so she bought the martens.

Next she moved on to a used bookstore. The smell was musty and bookish with a bit of cigarette thrown in. She loved wandering through the dark stacks looking at all the used books. She enjoyed picking out the ones that had cracked spines and dog-eared pages. She figured those were the ones that got read. The others were like brand-new and probably never read or, at the very most, never finished. She finally settled on a copy of
Pride and Prejudice.
“I always wanted to read this,” she told the clerk. “And now I think I will.”

“You’ll love it,” the clerk said. “Austen is my favorite.”

“I’ve heard that from other people. My son — he’s a writer — says she’s great.”

“Oh, what’s he written?”

Harriet felt a wash of pride. “He’s written one novel — a Western. It’s called
Ride the Wild Wind.
Why a Western, I don’t know.
He’s just finishing up his new book, and then I believe it will be sent out to the bookstores next year.”

“That’s great,” the clerk said with a bit of disbelief.

Finally, Harriet found her way to the Tupelo Honey Café, a lovely storefront restaurant nestled amid other stores and businesses. It had a green awning and tables and chairs assembled outside on the walkway. She thought about taking a seat outside, but when a chilly wind, chillier than before, kicked up, she went inside.

A hostess showed her to a seat. “Enjoy your dinner.”

Harriet looked at the menu. Everything sounded so good. Too good. She was half-starved. Being on the road left little time to eat. And Harriet liked to eat, even though Doctor Nancy was always on her about watching her carbs. Harriet swallowed and set the menu down as a most terrible thought crossed her mind. Moving to Grass Valley would mean needing to find a new doctor. Oh dear, another reason she should have called off the silly bet when she had the chance.

After a few minutes Harriet settled on the meat loaf, mostly because she liked the name: Not Your Mama’s Meat Loaf, and it came with from-scratch mac ‘n’ cheese. It sounded perfectly comforting on such a long and occasionally harrowing day. She thought about the purse snatching and winced. She could have gotten hurt, but in the heat of the moment there was not time to think.

Harriet liked the Tupelo Honey Café. There were black and white photos scattered about the walls of people and places, and the décor reminded her of an old-fashioned tearoom. The kind she used to visit with her mother so very long ago. Lush potted and hanging plants added to the earthiness of the place. Harriet breathed in the ambience and felt her shoulders relax for the first time all day.